Places I Can't Follow
by AllBeautyDestroyed
Summary: I would have followed you anywhere. I cant this time. I'm so sorry. One-shot.


**A/N: This is a short story that randomly popped into my head. Review it if you like it.**

I never thought I'd be standing here. As I stare at the concrete monument, I cant breathe. I reach out and touch the cold gray stone. My fingers trace the letters etched into the smooth surface. I can't say it out loud. Each syllable stabs into my heart, reminding me that you will never answer to your beautiful name again. I remind myself to breathe. Slowly, I inhale and let out a shaky breath. I force myself to turn and walk away from you. You will always be here, six feet under the cold earth. I will never see you smile at me. I won't hear you sing for me. I'll never watch your fingers play the piano again. I'll never see you perched on a stool holding a guitar. I will never again hear the words "I love you" fall from your lips. The silence was deafening. I counted each step as I walked away. Each step reminded me just how far away you were now. I always told you I would follow you anywhere. I meant it to. Somehow you managed to go to the one place I can't follow. I wanted to so badly, but I just can't.

Your mom asked me to help go through your apartment. I reluctantly agreed. You and I hadn't been very close for quite some time. I felt like an intruder, but she wouldn't take no for answer. The second I walked through your door I couldn't breathe. I didn't want to touch anything. I didn't want any of it to be moved. I didn't want the pieces of your life to be packed away or thrown out. I saw it hanging on the chair. Your jacket. You must have put it there when you came home that night. I look at them everyday. The photos. They were the last pictures taken of you. You were wearing that jacket. I walk over to it and place my hands on the soft leather. I touch where your shoulders would be. I close my eyes and try to remember what you feel like.

Your mom watches me as I pick up your jacket. I squeeze it in my hands and bring it up to my face. It still smells like you. I immediately fall to my knees and start sobbing. I can feel your mothers arms around me as I bury my face into your jacket. It's just a jacket. It doesnt hold your warmth anymore. I cling to it. Maybe if I hold on tight enough, you'll walk through the door. You'll walk in and tell that you're home. You'll walk in and tell me that you're still here. I felt so helpless. I could hear your mother try to soothe me. She knew it would be in vain. She knew that I would never be ok with this. That's something she and I will always have in common. I cried until I physically couldn't anymore. I knew I had to find the strength to stand up, so I did. My legs felt shaky, but they held me up. Slowly, I put my arms inside your jacket and wrap it around my body. I take a deep breath and walk over to your kitchen counter. I could feel your moms eyes on me as I picked up a coffee mug. There was still coffee inside. I dumped it into the sink and washed it. It nearly killed me.

Slowly but surely we slowly made our through the house, your house, collecting your things. Sorting them. Categorizing them. It's hard for me to look at your guitars. I don't want to touch them. I want your hands to be the last hands to touch the smooth wood. I want you fingers to be the last fingers to touch the fret boards, to push and pluck the strings. A strangled sob escapes me as I realize that you won't ever touch those instruments again. I watch as your mother takes one of them off of the stands. I want to scream at her to stop, but I don't. She takes it and places it with a box of stuff she has been very specific about. I don't know if I'm actually going to be able to do this. I've been living without you for quite some time, I've just never lived _without _you. You're underneath the ground, and I'm above it.

There's one room I refuse to go. Your bedroom. They found you in there. Lifeless and cold. I can't bear to be in that room. I. Can't. Your mom understands, and I watch her as she brings various things out and once again, and places them in that box. After what feels like an eternity, she speaks to me.

"Selena, honey." She says, her voice strained and tired. "Before you go, that box and that guitar belong to you now." She told me as she fought back tears. "It's what she would have wanted..." She added.

"I can't." I whisper as the tears start falling.

"You can sweetheart. And you will." She tells me. I simply nod.

She helps me carry your things down to my car. As I drive away, my heart feels heavy. I don't want to know what's in that box. I don't want to touch that guitar. I don't want you to be gone. As I lay in bed, still wrapped in your jacket, I feel numb. I'm exhausted, but I can't sleep. I'm afraid that one day I'll wake up and I won't remember the sound of your voice. I'm afraid I'll forget your smile. I'm afraid I'll forget they way your laugh sounds. I'm afraid that one day, I'm just not going to remember you. What happens if I wake up one day and I can't remember your face? I feel my chest tighten and my throat constrict. I can feel the tears as they cascade down my already tear stained cheeks. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry I wasn't there to change your mind. I'm sorry you had to do this all alone. I would have followed you anywhere, but there are some places even I can't go.


End file.
